Temptation's Kiss (8 page)

Her buoyancy deflated like a punctured balloon when she opened the door to her office and saw Josh sitting on the couch. Her eyes collided with his, and for an intense moment neither of them moved. Then slowly he unfolded his length from the deep cushions and stood up.

Not only his appearance but also his clothing left her speechless. He was dressed in a black-and-gold sweat suit and running shoes. His hair was wind-blown, his color high. Had he jogged over?

“Forgive the way I'm dressed.”

“What are you doing here?” She closed the door behind her and immediately regretted having done so. To open it now would be an admission that she felt completely undone at having found him here. Stiffly she stood just inside the door, trying vainly not to look at the deep wedge of dark curling hair in the V of the sweat shirt, zipped only halfway up. If that weren't enough, the way the matching pants fit his slim hips was most disconcerting.

“Your secretary was still at lunch,” he said, not answering her question. “I decided to wait for you to get back. Do you mind my being here?”

“Does it matter?” she asked acidly.

“Yes.” That simple unequivocal statement was more injurious than derision would have been, and she averted her eyes from his as she crossed the room briskly and stowed her purse in a bottom drawer of her desk.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Bennett?” she asked curtly as she assumed her seat.

“You can forgive my behavior the other day.” Her eyes flew back to his as her lips rounded into a small O of surprise. “You were right. I took advantage of a business meeting. When I kiss you again, and I will”—his voice lowered significantly—“I promise that the circumstances will be more conducive to romance.”

“There won't—”

“Yes, there will be. I'll see to it that there are many such occasions.” He looked toward the credenza, where the roses were now opened to their full glory.

Why hadn't she thrown them out? The morning after her encounter with him in the projection room she had closed her hands around the heavy vase with every intention of emptying the blossoms into the large trash receptacle at the end of the hall. But she hadn't been able to bring herself to do so. Why?

Josh walked over and pinched off one of the blossoms, then stepped behind her desk, stopping just inches from her chair. “An olive branch?”

Her heart skidded to a halt, and air felt trapped in her lungs as he extended his hand to her breast. Taking infinite care not to touch her, he slipped the rosebud into the first buttonhole of her blouse. His fingers were slow to withdraw. As they dangled there, a mere inch away, they radiated a longing to caress her so strong that her body responded as if they had indeed touched her. Her breasts swelled with desire, and the nipples tightened and peaked, beckoning to him.

She felt his eyes on the crown of her head. His breathing was rough and labored. Directly in front of her his thighs flexed spasmodically and his stiff fingers closed into fists. She curbed a mad impulse to lift one of those fists, open it, kiss it, and lay it against an aching breast.

“In answer to your question,” he said softly, “I've never lured a woman into my place of business for the purpose of seduction. I never mix business with pleasure. You, Megan, are the only woman who ever tempted me to break my own rule. Since I met you, you've been the exception to every rule.”

Still she couldn't speak. Why wasn't she casting aspersions on him? She should be lambasting him with every insult her mind could compose.

Instead she sat flustered and mute as he backed slowly away from her and sat down on the sofa once again.

“That's the main reason I wanted to see you today. To apologize. I'm here like this”—he indicated his clothing—“because one of my agents called me while I was at the gym. I thought you should know what he told me right away.”

The portentousness in his voice alarmed her. She hadn't heard such grave tones since the day he had called her at home and told her to come to the hospital right away. Her husband was in the emergency room fighting for his life.

“What is it, Josh?” Unconsciously she spoke his name with the intimacy of a valued friend, a … lover.

“As you know, one of our major accounts is the Dixieland food-store chain.” She nodded. “They're threatening to pull all their advertising off your station and divide it up between your competitors.”

“What?” She gasped, knowing immediately the importance of what Josh had told her. Dixieland grocery stores ran television commercials throughout the day and night. Losing their advertising dollars would cause a vacuum in the budget that would be difficult, if not impossible, to fill.
“Why?”

“Barnes,” he said tersely. “Megan, I wouldn't trouble you with this if I thought their complaints were petty. Were this an isolated case, I'd take Dixieland's promotion man to dinner and convince him that pulling their commercials off WONE would be a stupid move. You'd never have to know about it.” He stopped suddenly, as if realizing he'd revealed more than he'd intended.

“You've done that before, haven't you?” she demanded, her face paling. “Run interference to protect me?”

“I … it—”

“Haven't you?” she asked again, impatiently.

“Yes,” he admitted reluctantly. “But that's no more than I do for every sales manager of every television station all over the South. I smooth ruffled feathers all day. That comes with my territory. So don't go all defensive on me, okay? I've done for you what I've done for many others.”

Her back was still ramrod-straight and her chin still at a haughty angle, but she said, “Go on.”

He studied her for a long time. If she hadn't known him so well, known the kind of man he was, she might have thought his expression was wistful. His eyes scanned her hair, her face, her throat. He looked at the rosebud ensconced between her breasts for long moments. Finally he raised his eyes to hers again, and cleared his throat.

“As I was saying, if this were an isolated case, I'd let it pass. But this is the third time this week I've heard a complaint about WONE. Barnes handles each of those three accounts.”

Megan picked up her telephone and punched three numbers. “I need to see you. Now.”

She hung up and turned back to Josh. “Thank you for telling me. I can take care of it from here.”

“I'd like to stay.”

“I'd rather you didn't.”

“I'll stay.”

Before she could offer another argument, Barnes was opening her door, looking very uncomfortable. “Come in.” She was upset with Barnes, but not nearly as much as she was with Josh. One minute he was presenting her with rosebuds and whispering humble apologies; the next he was interfering in her life with the cold insensitivity she had come to expect from him.

Barnes sidled inside and closed the door behind him. He blanched visibly and wiped his palms down the sides of his pants legs when he glanced at Josh lounging on the couch. He didn't even seem to notice Josh's casual attire. “Mr. Bennett.” He nodded respectfully.

His genuflection to Josh only heightened Megan's irritation. “All right, Barnes, let's hear it. There had better be a damn good excuse why three of Mr. Bennett's clients have complained about you this week.”

“Three?” he squeaked.

“Three or one, it doesn't matter,” Megan said, her aggravation showing. “I gave you fair warning at the beginning of the week that you'd better shape up. Now the principal of the largest advertising agency in this part of the country comes to me, in an emergency situation, to tell me we may lose one of our largest accounts, and all because of your ineptitude.”

Ignoring Barnes's stammering attempt to defend himself, she swung her fiery gaze to Josh. “Mr. Bennett, would you, for my sake as well as Barnes's, enumerate the complaints you've heard?”

With the sober intonation of a judge, Josh ticked off the incriminating derelictions of duty—misrepresentation of when the client's commercials would run, misquotation of the rates, blatant indifference, total lack of communication. With each transgression cited, Barnes's face collapsed further, until he had the countenance of the saddest of basset hounds.

When Josh was finished, he swung his eyes from a distraught Barnes to Megan. “Thank you, Mr. Bennett, for warning us of this. Let's hope there's time to make amends. Any comments, Barnes?”

The young man shook his head miserably. “I've been messing up. I know it.”

“Well, if you want pity, you've come to the wrong place. If you want that girl in the newsroom, then go after her and go after her to win her, or give her up, or find a substitute for her, or take cold showers. I don't care.”

Barnes stared, stupefied, at Megan, clearly surprised to learn that she knew the source of his problem. As a woman she wanted to confess that she knew exactly what it was like to let someone consume one's thoughts and override one's common sense. But as an executive she couldn't afford to give an inch.

“I'm not going to divide your account list among the other salesmen, because they all have heavy loads. Nor am I going to threaten to replace the good ones you have with those that are less desirable. I don't think you'd care. What I am going to do is put you on one month's probation. For my part, that's a generous amount of time. At its termination I'm going to call personally on all your accounts. If they aren't completely satisfied and singing your praises, you might just as well clear out your desk, because you'll be gone by that working day.” She consulted her calendar. “That will be June twelfth. Have I made myself clear?”

He nodded glumly. “Yes, Meg—, uh, Ms., uh … ma'am.”

“Thank you for responding so promptly to my summons,” she said by way of dismissal. Barnes dragged himself to the door and closed it behind him.

Megan rose from her chair, feeling the weight of responsibility on her shoulders. She went to the window and stared out at a gorgeous spring day. Her eyes closed against the bright sunlight, which she dimmed by closing the blinds a notch. The sounds of traffic on the downtown streets were muted. She felt Josh's hands on her shoulders before she knew he was standing behind her.

“So a woman is his problem,” he said softly as his hands massaged the tension from her neck and shoulders. Through the thin fabric of her blouse, his hands were warmly comforting.

“Yes. Maybe I shouldn't have chastised him in front of you, but I thought your presence might increase the urgency of what I was telling him, shame him into doing what I know he's capable of doing. I don't know whether I handled it the right way or not.” It felt so good to confide her uncertainty to him.

“You handled it just great.”

“Do you think so, Josh?” She didn't examine why his opinion meant so much to her.

He turned her around to face him. “You were wonderful, brilliant,” he whispered, smoothing one hand down her hair while the other propped up her chin. “If I were young Barnes, I'd get my tail in gear and try to get on your better side.”

She smiled skeptically back at him. “That remains to be seen.”

“I'm so damn proud of you. I knew you were tough. I'd heard reports that you were sharper than a tack. But I didn't expect you to be quite so terrific.”

“The occasion called for being tough. I had to shake him up.”

“That's what makes you a good sales manager.”

“But at the same time I hated to come down on him so hard.”

“That's what makes you a woman.”

She had almost convinced herself that she wore an armor of anger to protect herself from him, but his softly spoken words pierced right through it like the cleanest stroke of a rapier and plunged straight into her heart. Headlong she dived into the depths of the eyes that looked down at her, and she begged to be drowned in them. His hands slid down her arms to clasp her hands. With no other part of their bodies touching, he leaned forward and sealed her mouth with his.

The sweet taste of his lips and the slow, evocative marauding of his tongue inside her mouth held her captive as strong arms couldn't have. At some silently given command, their heads rotated and switched sides to enjoy each other further. He sipped at her lips deliciously before pulling slightly away.

“Have dinner with me.”

“I—”

He kissed her again, drawing her breath into his own body.

“Please. Dinner only, Megan. I swear it. Just let me be with you.”

“Josh,” she whispered. This was insanity, and she well knew it, but she couldn't resist his seductive kisses. Her will, her reason, her grim resolutions scattered like petals in the wind whenever he touched her. She recognized now, if never before, that she feared what became of her when she was with Joshua Bennett. Could she be held accountable for mistakes made when he robbed her of the ability to think?

“Dinner and dancing. Nothing else, if you say so.”

Would one night hurt? One harmless dinner? A little dancing? He tasted so good. Salty. He'd had time for some form of exercise before receiving the call at the gym and coming to her. The musky smell of him made her light-headed. She longed to touch the coarse mat of hair on his chest, to trace its origins just below his collarbone, to chart the pattern of its growth down his torso, coming eventually to the root of his masculinity. She swallowed with difficulty.

“Please, Megan, end this punishment. Say yes.” He pressed his lips sweetly against hers and caressed them lovingly.

“Oh, Josh, ye—”

They heard the shuffling footsteps a split second before there was a sharp tap on the door and it was pushed open. “Megan?”

They sprang apart as Doug Atherton and Terry Bishop entered.

“There are you,” Doug said heartily. “Your secretary's not back from lunch yet, and I couldn't find you anywhere else in the building.” He seemed not to notice Megan's stricken expression. “I called your office, Josh. They said you were coming here. Did you jog over?” He laughed.

“No,” Josh said. “Something urgent came up that I thought Megan should know about. I rushed over before my workout was finished.”

“Nothing critical, I hope.” Atherton's brow wrinkled with instant alertness.

“No, I don't think so,” Josh said easily. “Megan managed to iron it out.”